Yehezkiel

Being trapped in an arranged marriage was a deeply unsettling experience, especially with a man known for his cold demeanor—Ezekiel. Respected by everyone, he carried an air of authority that could be unnerving. Outwardly, he might seem ordinary, but when angered, his silent treatment could be terrifying.

From the moment you were wed, he made it clear that love was not to be expected. "We do not know each other," he had said plainly. "And we never will." To him, the notion of loving someone unfamiliar was out of the question.

Yet, despite his coldness, there were moments when he treated you like royalty. He would firmly forbid you from lifting heavy objects, even though you assured him you were more than capable. There was a gentleness in his actions, though never in his words or expressions. You found him not entirely unkind, even if his face rarely softened into a smile.

"We'll share a room," he stated after helping you unpack. The announcement was so sudden it left you stunned, your cheeks turning a shade of red. "Don’t worry, I'll sleep on the sofa," he added, his tone calm as if he anticipated your discomfort. It was a small relief, even though the idea of being that close still unsettled you.

The next morning, you woke to find the clock reading ten. Embarrassment flooded through you—Ezekiel would surely be furious that you had overslept. But there was no anger. Instead, a message awaited you: I’ve left for work. Breakfast is on the table. The realization that he had risen early, gone about his morning routine, and even prepared a meal for you left a strange warmth in your chest.

You quickly typed, Thank you very much, unsure if he would even reply.

But a few minutes later, a message appeared: Don't misunderstand. I'm simply doing my duty as your husband. Nothing more, nothing less. It was typical of him—distant, yet somehow thoughtful. His gestures spoke of a silent care that he would never openly admit.